TITLE: Broken Out In Love
AUTHOR: JackValentine
BETA: Souffle&Daleks
PAIRING: Eric Rowan/Luke Harper
RATING: NC-17
GENRE: I genuinely don't know. On FF this thing goes by "General", but it's just some fucked-up perverse shit.
SIZE: Mini
WARNINGS: Dub-con… Kinda. Blood. Drugs(?)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Very kayfabe! If you're a thoughtful reader you will find links to the Wyatt Family promos and all the stuff ;) So yeah that's my headcanon when it comes to kayfabe, I'm sure Bray Wyatt is a wonderful human-being outside of the ring, I never intended to offend anyone, I deeply respect the guys. And I'm really happy that WWE introduced such characters as the Wyatt Family, as my fanfiction was getting a bit boring, and these guys are unlike anyone else on the roster, so I really enjoyed writing about them.
DISCLAIMER: Mr. McMahon owns everyone. (pun intended)
Catching flies in his mouth
Tasting freedom while he dares
Then crawling back to the top of the stairs
He won't see the sun again for years to come
He's broken out in love
(с)
The creaks of the ridiculously old, rust-eaten camp-cot filled the room, floated in the air, crawled through Harper's ears and right into his brain. They seemed to scratch his cerebellum, to enswathe the hemispheres, taking over his conscious and subconscious, blurring his mind, mixing his thoughts, like an annoying buzzing of a fly that wouldn't let you sleep at night. Luke rocked to the side, as if he was trying to shake the sounds off his head and felt it go round, even though he was laid down. He was panting and sweating, he was hot, infernally hot, like he was having some sort of a fever. Harper was gasping for air, not being able to breathe in deeply, as Rowan on top of Luke was skewering him too hard and too fast. Eric's eyes were closed and he obviously could not control the tempo. He was slowing down and speeding up, while Harper was just moving his hips back and forth happy-go-lucky, so they were completely out of sync, butting and banging against each other, thrusting and pushing each other, subconsciously trying to make each other uncomfortable, making this bestial intercourse look like a fight. Both were trying to bring the partner pain between this and then. However, Luke didn't feel any. He barely felt anything, besides his fingertips prickling a little. Harper looked down at his cock. The head was up high in the air, the shaft was stone hard for half an hour at the least now, even though he didn't even feel aroused and didn't feel like jizzing any time soon either. Suddenly, Harper felt Rowan grab his hair and pushed his arm away angrily. That made him look up at Eric. The picture was blurry and distorted and there were green circles all around Rowan. Luke observed this with silent amusement, his hips still moving, like a wind-up toy.
Harper flinched. He noticed that some other sounds joined the creaks of the camp-cot. He held his breath for a second. Just now he realized that these sounds were there all along, but now they started getting louder and bolder. Luke strained his intoxicated brain and saw, heard, felt just one thing. And that thing was the rocking chair. Harper turned his head to the left, slowly and uncertainly, even though he already knew what he was going to see.
It was Him. Rocking to his own rhythm, against the background of the shabby concrete wall, indented with the letters, countless letters, word upon word, again and again, old ones, new ones, crooked and ugly, in different shades of paint. "Obey", - they said. "Obey", "obey", "obey", over and over again, printing out onto your brain. In the middle of the abyss, in the cloud of the pink smoke of unknown origin He was sitting there and rocking in his chair. His hair wet, His head low rested against His paint-smeared knuckles. He was mumbling something, not stop, no pauses; He didn't even seem to breathe, what He was saying was far more important than breathing. So there He was. Mumbling and laughing ominously in between the thoughts. Watching. Always watching. Both Harper and Rowan knew – He was always watching. Your every step, your every word and action – He's always here, but you never see Him coming.
Harpers eyes slid down. Wyatt didn't touch himself, but there were wet spots on his white pants, some were moist, some were almost dry. His skin was all soaked in sweat and the pink mist seemed to radiate from the inside of Bray Wyatt's body.
Luke breathed in deep and inhaled the smoke, which was of a bitter taste and smelled like some sort of a flower or a herb. When Harper looked back up at Rowan, the green circles were already gone, but the colors were bright and exaggerated and everything looked like it was in high definition, Luke could see every single drop of sweat, every single wrinkle on Eric's face. But what drew Harper's attention the most was Rowan's mouth. Eric's lips looked like a rare berry in the tree of his beard to Luke. Like a real rowan. So red, glistening with saliva, Harper wanted to taste this forbidden fruit, to eat it out, to squeeze its juice out and drink it to the last drop. He grabbed Rowan's withers, quickly jabbing his arm, which he stretched out to protest, away, and pulled him in, digging his teeth into Eric's mouth, biting nipping, savaging, reveling with his saliva, mashing their lips and tongues into a wet hot mess. But it wasn't enough. Harper wanted to make the juice of this rowan pour, he wanted to taste it, taste it, taste it, so he was biting Eric's mouth, neck and shoulders mercilessly and ruthlessly, leaving appalling bite-marks on Rowan's skin, till the very moment when he felt Eric's lips split. The little drops of fluid rushed into his mouth and painted his tongue bright red. It was not the way Harper imagined. It was salty and metalline. But this saltiness was sweeter than the sweetest berry.
Suddenly, Harper felt a tight grasp on his cock. He looked down and realized that the fist squeezing his cock to the point of pain was his own. So he released it and came all over Rowan's torso. With the cum the fuddle seemed to leave Luke's body, so he just found himself on the rusty camp-cot, all covered in saliva, blood and cum, the most of which wasn't his. So he rammed through Eric and got up, intending to walk the door, but instead he rocked to the wall and fell down on the dirty floor. The last thing Harper heard before passing out was His reverberating laugh and the creaks of His rocking chair.